Named for Loyalty
by Lost-Remembrance
Summary: Three times Dastan proved his loyalty and the one time that he didn't have to. It wasn't his fault his brothers seemed to attract assassination attempts. Pre-movie.
1. Chapter 1: Tus

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Persia or any of the characters.

Summary: Three and One. Three Times Dastan proved his loyalty and the one time he didn't need to.

Warning: whump!Dastan. whump meaning: "a fandom term, commonly used by fanfiction authors to describe physical and/or mental abuse laid on a character in a story." Movie!verse

Named for Loyalty

By: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)

One: Tus

The sun was shining in a glorious fashion, beating down on the main city in the vast Persian Empire. In this grand city, the three famed princes were all together, enjoying the relatively peaceful times they found themselves in. It was the first of many months that they weren't traveling to other areas, either spreading their territory further or making political appearances in other conquered places.

Tus found himself quite happy with the arrangement. Finally he had time to see to his wives and bask in their endless affection. He was safe within these stonewalls that he called home. Exhaling deeply. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up towards the sky. As the crown prince, there was little time for him to feel at such peace. Ministers and counsels continuously vied for his attention and favor. His father was always watching with that weighed, testing gaze of his.

Finally, after seven days of a whirlwind of princely duties, he felt he could take a moment to himself and to simply breathe. Tus reopened his eyes and continued on his slow walk, letting his feet take him to one of the outer and lower gardens in the maze-like structure of the palace. Here there were the sounds of birds and insects rather than the loud murmur of various servants. Not a guard was in sight, but Tus couldn't bring himself to care.

He was home, and after all, no one would be foolish enough to attempt an attack on him. His sword would be drawn before they could charge.

"Tus! Hey, brother!" Tus' attention was drawn away from the serenity of the surroundings and over to the form of Dastan, who was waving a hand to catch his attention as he darted towards him with his natural agility.

Tus rolled his eyes at the sight. Of all the princes, anyone would be able to tell it was you who were not born of noble blood." He felt a twinge of regret upon his words, seeing the flicker of pain that was then quickly hidden in Dastan's eyes. "What brings you in such a hurry, brother?"

Their youngest brother laughed in a carefree manner. "Nothing at all. Can I not simply wish to spend time with my eldest brother?"

Tus raised an eyebrow in suspicion at these words before a slow grin slipped over his lips. "I guess you've decided to try and prank Garsiv and actually succeeded this time?"

Dastan had the decency to blush at his brother's words. His shoulders raised themselves slightly, "You might want to stay away from his bedchambers this evening. He seemed quite mad yet when I fled."

Tus chuckled, mood lightening even further. He couldn't imagine life without Dastan as his brother. Together, Tus and Garsiv often balanced one another, but they had many similar traits that led them both to lead very serious lives. Dastan added mirth, humor, and excitement to their daily activities.

Dastan looked to the ground as they slowly continued walking around the various beauties in the garden. "I hope you don't mind the company. I know you've seemed rather stressed lately." Dastan frowned at himself, thinking of all the effort he put into distracting various members of the palace from questioning where the crown prince was. All that effort, to give him some peace and quiet, ruined by his silly little prank on Garsiv!

"And here I was beginning to wonder why no servants had managed to find me yet with some important task that demanded my attention." Dastan didn't meet his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. He could never be able to lie to his brother or any of his family members. It was an endearing trait to the royal family

Tus kept his eyes on his brother for a moment before he turned his attention away towards a rose bush in front of him. "Thank you, brother." Dastan said nothing, but Tus knew he had a smile on his face.

"I haven't wandered this particular garden in quite some time. I've forgotten how peaceful it is away from the palace echoes."

"There are some beautiful trees here." Dastan agreed, eyeing a few with eagerness. Tus had always watched his brother's skills with awe, almost as if the younger boy had wings. He himself much preferred to remain on the ground.

From the distance, they heard a rabble of noises, mostly of servants calling their names as they tried to locate the two princes.

"Well, it looks like my vacation is over." Tus commented, "Though they are still quite a ways away. We should still have some moments before we are swarmed." Tus sat himself down on the edge of a marble fountain and dipped his hands into the water. Dastan remained standing near him; he was never really one for sitting.

The noise of the searching servants drowned out most of the ambience of the garden as the search party slowly approached. Dastan didn't hear an odd rustle of leaves until almost the last second.

The youngest prince's brain rapidly connected the lack of breeze and animal calls with the brief rustle. A second and third were more pronounced and sent his body coiled into action just as the air was split by an arrow.

He crashed his body into his brother by instinct, adrenaline fueling his protective intentions. As their body's collided Dastan felt a sharp flair of pain strike through his torso. Together, the two crashed into the cool water. He gasped at the pain, water flooding into his mouth. Before he had a moment to collect himself, his brother's struggling body, reaching for the surface, sent him crashing against the side of the fountain.

He lost consciousness, slipping through the waves of pain shocking his system.

Tus pulled himself from the water hair dripping, and mouth open and gasping like a fish. He shook himself, causing offending water droplets to fly off his face and the tendrils of his sopping bangs. His wet hands attempted to smooth back his hair into some semblance of order as a wave or irritation flooded through him.

Only Dastan would be able to make a crowned prince look like a drowned rat. Servants erupted into the entrance of the large garden, effectively shattering any remaining illusions of tranquility. Armed guards were running across the upper walkways connecting to the high-reaching walls.

"Dastan—" Tus turned his head and his eyes widened in shock. "Dastan!" His cry of worry alerted the searchers to his exact location. Quickly, he pulled his limp brother from the churning fountain water. Red tainted the once crystal clear waters.

His mind, muddled by shock, put the events together. Assassin. Fury burned through him. A guard approached him and training took over. He instantly barked orders for the guard to gather troops and search the city for the man who dared to try and assassinate the crown prince in his own backyard.

A servant girl quickly fell to her knees, pulling out a rag as she attempted to wipe down Prince Dastan and determine the source for blood.

"Call a healer! Immediately!" Tus commanded and people quickly fled to accomplish his latest order. A bulky servant and a thinner man approached the princes, gently taking Dastan from his brother's grip and lifting him up. The two, following the prince, quickly made their way back to the palace and into Dastan's bedchambers where the healer was impatiently waiting…

As soon as Dastan's wooden doors to his bedchambers opened, the healer stopped wringing his hands. He turned his attention to his younger female attendant and apprentice, snapping orders at her while following the still form of the youngest prince.

"He was shot in an assassination attempt." Tus said, voice cold and emotionless as he stared down at his brother with clear worry, "An arrow. To the back."

The healer quickly went into action, turning the limp form from his side to better access the damage. One his cut away and removed any articles of clothing impeding his vision, he saw the damage done by the arrow.

Half of it was still lodged in Dastan; the other half floating away in the fountain somewhere from where it broke when he impacted against the wall. Tus clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into calloused flesh. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he watched as the healer and his helpers wrenched the remaining half of the arrow from Dastan.

The sudden motion and imminent fury of pain cut through to Dastan even through the blanket of unconsciousness. His eyes snapped open and his body arched. His mouth opened, attempting to scream, but a gurgled and watery cry was all that escaped his throat.

"IT sounds as though he has water lodged in him, sir." One of the female attendants noted, taking a damp cloth and wiping it against the forehead of their patient, hoping to soothe him and his pain. Daze and half lidded eyes stared at her. Even in their current state, the young maiden couldn't help but find a flush break across her cheeks before she quickly composed herself.

Upon hearing her words, the healer then attempted to dispel any remaining water clogged in Dastan's lungs. That was easily accomplished when the simplest shift in Dastan's position allowed the younger man to cough, easily removing any traces of water.

Tus watched with guilt as he saw the healer's continuous attempts to staunch the flow of blood from the puncture wound. The tip of the arrowhead was what had caused most damage in the young prince; the barbed tip tore through more muscle when it was sharply removed.

When he saw the healer press a poultice solution onto the wound, his worry abated only briefly. Dastan had made it through the removal of the arrow and all that was left would be stitching the wound shut. Compared to the previous pain, hopefully Dastan would barely feel the needle. Tus prayed to the gods that his nerves were simply too overloaded to process any more pain.

When the female attendant pulled out a needle and some fine silk thread, Tus took one more deep and calming breath. "I will return and expect an update on his condition."

"Yes, sire. We shall patch him up and then closely watch him for signs of any fever or infection." The doctor said as the woman threaded the silk through the needle eye.

Tus nodded his appreciation and turned, taking his leave as two guards followed him, flanking either side of him. As he exited the bedchambers, his eyes caught the form of a figure leaning against the wall. Adrenaline spiked through him until he recognized the silent guardian; Bis.

Bis looked at him and bowed his head at the sight of royalty. Tus nodded, remaining silent. What more could he say?

He continued on his trek towards the throne room where his father would be waiting. Judging by the skittish servants, he assumed Garsiv was grumbling about the latest prank Dastan played on his brother to their father.

Once again Tus was reminded of Dastan's unfaltering loyalty to his adopted family. Any slightest whispering of doubt in his mind was certainly left in the secluded garden.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at a panting servant in front of him. It was the same lad who had fetched the healer for him. He was arguing with the guards, attempting to gain admittance into the chamber. Tus briefly noted the time, assuming it was the private time when all three princes had their father's attention and nothing else. It was during this time, they were allowed to voice any complaints, ask any favors, or determine solutions for problems. The lad was attempting a fool's task to try and gain admittance during such a time. Only the severest of situations allowed such an interruption.

The guards obviously didn't believe the lad when they said Prince Dastan had been injured foiling an assassination attempt in the palace.

Tus approached and signaled for the boy to stand down. He himself would deliver the news to their father. The guards noted the appearance of the crown prince and parted ways, allowing admittance and opening the large wooden doors to the throne room.

"Ah, Tus," his father, the King commented, "Finally you decide to make your appearance." He lifted an eyebrow, both at his son's obviously wet appearance and at his tardiness. "And where is Dastan?" Garsiv snorted and cross his hands at that question.

Tus remained standing rigidly, a simple hand movement indicating the doors to be closed as he fully entered the chamber. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to tell his father the news.

FIN


	2. Chapter 2: Garsiv

TWO: Garsiv

GARSIV STILL REELED EVERY TIME HE REMEMBERED the day when he and his father had learned of the assassination attempt. Assassination against a royal was by no means an unordinary occurrence, but such attempts were rare in the palace. Their walls were heavily fortified and security was tight. Many citizens felt pride that they were the center of the Persian Empire.

The middle child of the royal family also assumed it was because while an attempt had been made on one of his brother's lives, the one he complained about to his father had taken the arrow that surely would have killed Tus. Guilt clenched his heart and furiously poured every emotion into the sword and training area.

They had caught the assassin before he managed to flee the city. Word of Dastan's injury ebbed through the palace walls by word of servants and many of the commonfolk were unsettled by this news; Dastan after all was symbolic. He was a prince with no royal blood in him. Bars and markets were thoroughly searched and the hired killer was put on trial. It was discovered that an upperclass merchant family was very unhappy with Persian rule after the King's armies conquered their home.

Their unhappiness was quickly dealt with before more fire could be used to fan any flames of rebellion.

Dastan had been bedridden for nearly a month as his back healed. Fever had ravenged his body for the first two weeks, leaving him delirious and weak as a kitten. After the fever broke, Dastan attempted to recover too quickly. On the fourth week, he accidentally tore his healing wound and ripped some of the stitches. The healer had been less than pleased by such events and quickly restitched the wound.

It hadn't seemed that long ago since the attack while in actuality it had been almost three months since Dastan had fully recovered. He bore a scar of course, but merely shrugged it off with a grin.

Once he was able to rid himself of the healer, his demeanor had greatly improved as he roamed about the palace once more, unrestricted and unhindered by pain or warnings. The two older brother's were most relieved.

Two months after his recovery, Dastan and Garsiv were ordered out on a campaign by their father in order to go and add another territory into their growing empire. Tus was to remain at the royal palace; their father had important business and lessons for him to attend to. Their uncle was to accompany the two of them and provide counsel to any decisions they need make.

With their orders received, they quickly gathered their men—Garsiv with his well-trained cavalry and Dastan with his group of "cut-throat ruffians"—the royals took to their steeds and left at dawn.

The seasons were beginning to change and the day was not quite as hot as the summer months. Camels were trailing behind the horses in the caravan, carrying essentials and plenty of cloth. The nights would be even cooler than in summer.

"I hear that this area that we are going to has some very delightful tasting food. Perhaps we can bring back some recipes." Dastan commented, turning to look at Garsiv with a grin.

While the two didn't have as amiable relationship on the surface as the bond between Dastan and Tus, the two were still close. Dastan just found himself irked by his older brother's headstrong ways and need to charge into battle. Such feuds spawned from this trait often left Dastan frustrated and feeling helpless.

One of these days, his brother's impatient actions would lead him to his death. The thought sent a shiver down Dastan's spine.

Garsiv had always been there for the youngest. While his presence was often a harder, jaded shadow for the former orphan, he always seemed to silently radiate any emotions he refused to express. Dastan knew deep down that he brother loved him—or at least he hoped that he did.

"We shall arrive by sundown boys." Their uncle said, trotting up to the silent royals. He eyed them each, as if trying to determine the reason for their silence. Often times he had to play advocate and peacemaker between the two to sooth any ruffled feathers.

"We shall make camp on the outskirts of the city at sundown. Make sure that each tent is far enough away from the reach of an arrow." _The bloodied silver tip of the broken arrow shaft was presented to the King by Tus. _"We attack at dawn."

"Brother, don't you think we should scout the area and look for any advantages and disadvantages of the fortress and terrain?" Dastan inquired. Nizam remained silent, as if trying to predict if an argument would spike from Dastan's thoughts.

Garsiv shot a look at his brother, "You dare to question my decisions?" Dastan looked taken aback by such fury behind his brother's words. "As the eldest on this mission, I am in charge. Why father determined you needed to accompany me is beyond me." The middle child grumbled the last sentence under his breath, yet still loud enough that Dastan was able to hear it. "You and your men are nothing compared to my soldiers."

He stiffened upon hearing the words, masking any hurt from his brother's grumblings. He knew that Garsiv was tense—he always was on the eve of a battle and oftentimes he was distracted with all the decisions that must be made as a leader. He knew—or hoped he knew—that Garsiv didn't mean his words and was simply venting his emotions. He still took the words to heart and found himself questioning his worth to his brother.

Garsiv was strong and able after all. Why did his father feel the need to send him and his band of men along with the finest of the Persian army? Uncle Nizam's counsel was also one of the wisest and best in the land. Dastan felt truly worthless on this particular mission.

"My men will lead the charge with me." Garsiv announced after camp had been set up and the soldiers were preparing themselves for the long day and battle ahead of them. A map was unfurled in front of Dastan and Nizam. Garsiv was pointing out spots with the tip of a jeweled dagger. "We shall attack at dawn from the northern gate. Dastan, you and your men will follow after my troops and restrain any remaining rebellion after we have conquered the city."

Dastan opened his mouth, about to protest at such orders, but closed his mouth and turned his head down towards the carpeted ground. "Very well brother." If he was forced to be the clean up crew, he had no say in this matter. His brother was wound much too tight and any criticism of his actions… well, Dastan feared what the retribution would be for any protests.

'Brother, I sincerely hope you know what you are doing.' Dastan exhaled and took his leave, heading over to his own tent to try and find some rest before the sun rose over the rocky hills in the distance…

Dastan's men weren't meant as a clean up crew. They were smart men, who knew their way around a fight. They weren't bulky or intimidating men who silences any remaining protests. They were stealthy men like Dastan.

When they entered the city, most of the men had already been subdued and there was no noticeable resistance in the ruined streets. Dead bodies littered the scorched grounds. Most of the citizens who weren't remaining in hiding had been rounded up by Garsiv's men in the center of the town.

Already his elder brother had marched into the main part of the city and Dastan rushed to meet him. Too many variables could happen if Garsiv went into the castle with only his men to guard him. They would no doubt be pumped by their victory.

He feared that the spoils of victory would blind his brother and any guards he had from potential threats. After all, Dastan knew better than many that desperate people were the most dangerous and unpredictable because they had nothing left to loose…

Dastan charged his horse forward, shouting orders to Bis to take over rounding up any remaining opposing forces. His dark haired friend nodded and turned to order some of the other soldiers (and friends) around while scanning the ruins of the city. Dastan had already left the street, urging his horse towards the center where he knew his brother and uncle would be.

An uncomfortable feeling fluttered in his stomach, making his breath quicken and adrenaline rush through his veins. He jumped off his horse and run up the steps of the palace in twos and threes, pushing himself further and further.

Guards jumped out the way as he raced through the halls, following the trail of soldiers to where he sensed his brother was located.

The doors were unguarded and he saw his brother kick a sword away from the fallen monarch of the palace, arrogantly standing over the defeated ruler. The guards who were meant to protect Garsiv were fawning over the women huddled over in a corner, watching the Persian men with fearful and wary eyes.

No one noticed the shadowy figure slink from the curtains near the monarch's throne. Dastan's feet slid across the floor with great speed but he knew he was too late. There wasn't enough time to tackle to person away from his brother without running the chance of a loose swipe striking his brother.

"Garsiv!" Dastan yelled, plowing in to his brother and throwing him to the floor. The sword arched where Garsiv was but seconds before. The cloaked figure snarled and the guards quickly turned at the noise. The enemy's sword was swung down for a killing strike at Garsiv. Dastan reached out with all his strength and kicked the figure at the same time as shoving Garsiv out of the way.

The sword changed targets as the opponent lost their footing and put their force into the blade. It sliced through Dastan's side, missing most of him as he attempted to twist out of the side. His abdomen erupted in fire as the sword struck clean through him and pinned him to the floor.

The falling opponent landed on him, knocking the wind out of him. Wide eyes met his own and he knew the figure was no man. The warmth of the strange woman's body against his own wasn't as delightful as usually thought; it was crushing.

Guards charged forward as Garsiv regained his senses. Quickly, they pulled the struggling body off of the fallen prince. Garsiv pulled the short sword as gently as he could from his brother but still couldn't stop the internal flinch at hearing his brother's gasp.

The guards ripped off the cloak shrouding the attacker's face, revealing it to be the furious face of the princess, daughter of the King that Garsiv had mocked not moments before.

"Let me go, you Persian beasts!" The princess shouted, struggling in the strong grips of her captors. She snarled at them when they sent her dirty looks and snapped foul Persian swears at her.

"It would be wise to accept defeat." Garsiv snarled at the woman, silencing her with his glare before softening his look and turning to look at his brother.

Dastan coughed, offering a weak smile. "I told you, you should be more careful. Don't let victory of war cloud your mind." He figured he would be able to get away with these words now, wounded in his brother's grip. He left what he really wants to say go unsaid; 'I will always watch out for you.' And the subtler 'I knew this was a mistake…'

"You always have to take the spotlight, don't you Dastan?" Garsiv questioned, shaking his head.

A healer entered into the room and all ever forced to leave except the two princes and the healer's helpers. Two guards closed the door and stood sentinel. Together with the help of Garsiv, they lifted the muscular royal and laid him on a makeshift bed fluffed with floor pillows and carpets.

A young maiden produced some white linen for wrappings as the healer knelt before the prince, examining the wound. "Well, the good news is that the blade went straight through, so we have nothing to fear of shards being stuck." He turned and lifted a hand, an attendant placing the blade in his hand. He examined it and released a breath, "Perhaps this time you won't be ridden with fever, Prince Dastan, considering the making of this blade. It looks like a ceremonial blade—hopefully it hasn't been used once before this."

"And?" Garsiv prodded further, pulling Dastan's clothing away to help the physicians better reach the wound.

"I'm hoping that given this palace and the wielder, there will be little chance of infection. The blade struck clean and through, missing any important organs and bone." He glanced at one of the girls who pulled out a compress. "Apply pressure."

"Yes, sire." Another woman wet a cloth, wiping away grime and blood from the site of the wound.

"Prepare the needle and thread." The healer looked down at Dastan pleased that there was little bleeding and the prince was still conscious. "Prince Dastan, we meet once again."

The prince weakly chuckled, focusing on the pain to keep conscious. "Indeed. Once again you aim to scar my body."

"Perhaps one day we will meet under better circumstances—one where you aren't bleeding hopefully." He beckoned a young girl over to his side. "You will stitch the entrance and exit wound closed. Make them small and neat, girl." The woman nodded and took the proffered equipment.

"This time I hope you will follow my orders regarding your health. No more climbing trees until your stitches are removed." Garsiv nodded in agreement before turning his eyes back to his brother.

"I'm fine Garsiv—trust me when I say I've had much worse." He grit his teeth as the woman continued to pull his flesh back together.

"Really, with your skills I thought you would have been able to dodge that blade." Garsiv said, a torrent of emotions churning inside him.

His brother was gently turned for the exit wound to be fixed.

Dastan tried to not to be hurt by the words of his brother, as if he was cheapening the skills Dastan worked hard to perfect. "For every twenty arrows and swords I miss I have to eventually be struck by one, don't I?" he noted his voice held a bit of bitterness.

The woman tied off the last of the stitches and gently pulled it taut and gently rolled the brunette back into a more comfortable position and propped him lightly with plush pillows. Another female attendant wrapped the wound with a healing salve and fine linen while the other pulled a sleeping blanket made of fine Egyptian cotton up to his chest.

"Rest, prince." The healer said, bowing his head at the two of them. Dastan nodded and closed his eyes. He seemed to sense that there were words that needed to be spoken in confidence between the two royals. Quickly, he ushered all the room's occupants outside, closing the door behind him with hushed instructions for him to be fetched if any changes occurred in the prince's healing.

"Dastan." Said person opened his eyes and turned them to look at Garsiv. He had half expected his brother to leave the room when the doctor did after he ordered rest. He looked at his brother, taking in his jittery appearance and sensed there was something Garsiv needed to say to him.

"What is it brother?"

Garsiv was silent for a moment, as if struggling to find the words to say. A frown crossed his face before it morphed into frustration. He then let out a heavy sigh and bowed his head. His hand reached out, finding Dastan's and gripped it tightly. "I'm sorry Dastan."

Needless to say, Dastan was shocked at this turn of events.

"I realize that my words and actions can be harsh." He turned his head away, examining the wall as if it had all the answers in the world, "I often times realize that I say things I do not mean and by then… I simply cannot recant them in front of so many people." _Weakness_. "I often have admired you and Tus for qualities I find myself lacking in." He paused a moment before continuing, "The bond between you two is so evident and I feel…" Here he once again seemed to struggle. "What I mean to say is…"

"Garsiv," Dastan said, clenching his hand around his brother's. "You, Tus, Father, Nizam, and Bis are all the family that I have." He took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eye, "I would gladly die a thousand deaths to protect each and every one of you."

Garsiv bowed his head after seeing the undisputed truth lying in his younger brother's eyes, "I had worried for so long, after you got hurt by that assassin aiming for Tus… I said so many hurtful things—things that would make one question the brotherly bond between us—and things I know that hurt you. So many times I found myself wondering if you would bother doing the same for me as you did for Tus." He smiled, "I'm shamed to admit thinking such thoughts. Dastan, I apologize for ever questioning such things, and today only proves such." He slipped his hand from his brother's, choosing now to clasp it against Dastan's shoulder, "You are truly a strong and noble prince of Perisa. Never let my words or any others doubt you of your abilities. I apologize for how I've acted as of late."

Dastan snorted, ignoring the pain as chuckles bubbled up in his chest. To hear his brother admit such things was truly a rare occurrence and he felt so much lighter than before. "We will always be brothers, brother. Nothing can change that." He grinned, "Although you could try to be a little nicer."

Garsiv nodded and lightly patted his younger brother's shoulder, "Someone has to keep you in check. Besides, you are the youngest brother—if Tus won't give you grief, then it is my job as second oldest to take this task."

Together, the two shared a laugh and knew, no matter what was said in the future, it was the unspoken words and emotions the two now knew each other shared that solidified their trust and brotherly bonds.

FIN


	3. Chapter 3: Sharaman

Note: A special thanks to all readers, reviewers, favs, alerts, and support this story has gotten! Hopefully other people will make some lovely Dastan whump fics as well! Review or PM me if you have one/know of one: I feel like I've ghosted the entire archive already. Thanks again y'all! Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy:

THREE: King Sharaman

The King honestly couldn't believe the situations that Dastan managed to get himself into. However, his prowess in battle and life surely faced a few bad days to oppose his plethora of good days.

His two sons and brother had returned from their campaign not too long ago; a month had passed since Testuna had fallen to their Empire. The King was allowed to remain in relative power as long as he pledged loyalty to the empire and agreed to have his territories marked as Persian. Their conquest meant there was little they could argue or resist for.

Sharaman actually saw the situation with amazement. He knew his son Garsiv was hot blooded—a trait he himself once shared before he ascended the throne. When he heard of the attempt on Garsiv's life, his mind flashed back to the many attempts on his sons' lives, starting from the most recent. When he heard the assailant had lived, he had been truly surprised, especially when he learned Dastan foiled the attempt and would leave the close attack with yet another scar on his body…

He shook himself from his thoughts, reminding himself that his sons were all once again together and safe within these castle walls. His guards here were among the most loyal. Plus, Bis was wandering around the various corridors, no doubt not only stirring trouble among the staff but also shadowing his lifelong friend and prince.

A knock alerted the King to a vistor and he looked up, glancing at the door guard and lifting his hand, indicating that he should open the door. Nodding at the order, the man proceeded to do so and admit in none other than the object of the King's thoughts.

"Hello father," Dastan cheerfully greeted, getting to a knee and then taking his father's offered hand to sit on the floor beside him. "How is the empire today?"

Sharaman chuckled, knowing that Dastan truly had no interest in running a country or empire. He cared of the people indeed, and had a large heart that remembered his roots, but he was a man of action and adventure rather than bureaucracy. "Is that truly what you wish to know?" He raised an eyebrow, easily able to read his youngest.

Dastan grinned, "You know me too well father."

The King smiled as well at that thought. Taking Dastan in to his family was one of the wisest decisions he believed himself to have ever made. "All is well in the kingdom. Trade is up and all of the territories seem to be prospering."

Dastan smiled softly, "I'm glad." He knew how much effort his father and family put into this empire, both in expanding and maintaining it.

"Was there something that you wanted my son?" Sharaman questioned as he signed a document he had been reading over and passed it on to one of the silent advisors behind him. Sharaman took up another document and glanced at his son before closely examining the paper's contents.

"Just company." Dastan leaned against the plush coverings on the floor beside his father's throne. "Bis has decided the he is going to be my shadow for the day and—quite frankly, it's driving me insane." Even though he knew it was Bis, his senses were overloading, setting jitters through his veins as he felt the presences of a stalker. He couldn't help it; he had conditioned his body in such a way, always prepared and tense—but the constant shadowy presence in the back of his mind was starting to make him jump at shadows.

"I know he means well." Dastan commented, "and I know he is giving me space to think and do as I please, but it's almost worse than actually having him constantly by my side. At least then I know it's him and not someone else."

Sharaman made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat. No wonder his youngest was so on edge. The youth was rarely the type to conform to royal standards. He brawled with the soldiers, performed stunts and other fabulous feats, and rarely allowed for guards to accompany him. His battle skills made him a worthy enough opponent without a band of officers slowing him down rather than protecting him.

Dastan took a deep breath, smiling as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. There were few moments in his life he could take a breath and simply enjoy the slow passing of time.

Sharaman glanced down once more at his silent son, a slow smile crossing his face. He shuffled some papers, looking through them for a task that would occupy Dastan's mind and time. His search produced a folded and sealed note from Tasman, a regent from one of their recently conquered territories. He looked at the note and couldn't help but sigh; the man was continuously vying for the King of Persia to come to his lands and attend various banquets and lavish events. So far, this was the fifth of such invites he had been sent over the course of two months.

"Dastan, entertain yourself with the various tasks of this empire. Be a good son and help your father go through these tedious tasks, notes, and letters." He passed down Tasman's letter to his son.

"Anything for you, father." Dastan grabbed a blade and slid it under the wax seal of Tasman's house of arms, breaking the seal. He lifted the fold of paper up and jumped back when a strange black mist sprung from the envelope and surrounded him.

He jumped back and away from his father, feeling the mist wrap itself around him.

"What sorcery is this?" The King cried, standing to his feet as guards burst into the room, breaking any silence from the studious activities not a few minutes prior. The King could only watch in horror as the black mist surrounded Dastan, wrapped around him, and seemed to seep into his body.

He watched horrified as his son collapsed on the ground, still and silent. The letter fluttered to the floor next to him. The guards finally eased their protective circle around their king and he pushed through them to Dastan, falling to his knees.

"Call Healer Ysam immediately!" The King bellowed, sending the guards skirting around like scared hares. His fingers gently touched the mysterious envelope and, when no surprises met him, he opened the letter fully.

_Your majesty King Sharaman, Emperor of all Persia,_

_I hope this letter meets you with good spirits, for it shall be your last. No doubt all my invitations previously have eased any suspicion of ill or harm towards you and your family. A curse on your house this letter brings forth! When your armies conquered my lands, you gave us no choice but to surrender to the higher power._

_We have searched ourselves and our faith, questioning our gods as to why and how we were able to be conquered. All of this matters not to you however. Our struggles in faith and fortune mean little as long as you receive your taxes and share of wealth, food, and women. _

_I laugh as I pen this letter to you, for I know you shall not be able to read this at all. MY sorcerers have worked long and hard to concoct this malady that will strike as soon as the fold is opened, a deadly plant vapor common in our lands. The black mist you observe will be the last thing you shall ever gaze upon. _

_Sweet dreams your majesty, for you shall never awake from your slumber and will simply waste away to flesh and bone—just as our country slowly has as well._

_Your executor,_

_Tasman_

With a roar of rage at such treachery, he called for his sons to come to him. The healer arrived after his sons rushed into the room, stilling at the sight of a still Dastan.

"Father?" Tus questioned, walking quickly to his father and kneeling beside him. When his father remained silent, his eyes flickered to the note held loosely in his fingers. Gently taking it from his father, he lifted it to his gaze and silently began reading.

Garsiv leant down to Dastan along with the healer—the same who had been called the previous times—and brushed his brother's bangs aside. Dastan was still, yet he still breathed lightly. Garsiv could feel the tickle of air against his hand with each exhale.

The healer took Dastan's pulse. "We meet once again, prince. At least this time there is no blood to meet my eyes." His brow however furrowed deeper as his examination continued. He was able to provide no answers for the baffling sleep the prince found himself in.

"What sorcery is this?" Tus cried, passing the letter on to the healer. Garsiv shot his elder brother an unhappy look at that turn of events before checking himself; the healer had to know after all what they were up against.

Silently, the man passed the letter on to Garsiv and examined his patient once more, only more thoroughly. "I have heard of such a plant existing on the slopes of the Himalayas, but I have never seen it nor its effects. I thought it was but a myth."

"If such a plant does exist but it is, as you say mythical, what can we do?" Tus questioned.

"We cannot simply let him turn to nothing but bones." Garsiv growled, looking down at Dastan with worry. He was eerily still, reminding him of a dead body. His paled skin didn't help fight off any illusions of death. It seemed as if the blood had been drained from his body.

Healer Ysam closed his brown eyes and took a moment to concentrate his thoughts and try to bring forth a solution to this grievous issue. He sorted through his thoughts and all his ears and practices of training. Finally he snapped his eyes open and turned them to the expectant king. "King Sharaman, I beg of you to send for a healer from Alamut. Ask them to bring all of the medicines native to their country and of surrounding areas, including Himalayan herbs. I believe the Alamut healers will be able to help Prince Dastan wake up from this unholy slumber."

In five minutes, riders were quickly prepared to travel the long trek to Alamut and gather the best willing and skilled healer the holy city had to offer, as well as any herbs and medicines that could be of help. With their persons, hey each carried a letter pleading for help written by the Healer Ysman. He prayed that their morals would transcend any borders or ill feelings towards the Persian Empire. Alamut was a peaceful place—neutral and hadn't been breached or attacked in numerous centuries.

"Quickly, we must get Prince Dastan to his bedchambers so I can further examine him." His eyes caught the numerous gazes of the remaining advisors in the room, mumbling lowly to one another on the blatant attempt on the King's life, and of the treachery displayed by Tasman…

The riders stormed into the city, and the guards at the eastern gate had anticipated their arrival, clearing the way for them. As soon as the watchmen had seen the approaching figures—five riders in all—they sounded the signal. Luckily, the moon was hanging high in the sky and the occupants of the city were mostly tucked away in their respected dwellings.

They charged through the city and the almost vacant streets, destination in mind and not slowing down for a soul. The palace guards opened the final door that allowed admittance into the palace square and the horse pranced and pulled at their reins as they were sharply pulled to a stop.

The two messengers from Persian leapt from their respected rides and hurried over to the other three accompanying their party. They assisted in removing the various packed bags the horses carried and lended an arm to the healers to dismount their steeds.

Servants approached, taking the reigns of the exhausted horses and waited until their luggage had been removed by other assisting hands before leading them off for rest and food in the stables.

"Quickly, this way sires." A young maiden said, bowing her head to them respectfully before leading them off to Prince Dastan's chambers.

"What is the prince's condition?" One of the Alamut healers questioned as they matched steps with the servant. Worry was evident on their face.

"He hasn't stirred for three days. The healers are doing what they can—giving him liquids and potions, but still nothing seems to rouse him from this strange sleep." She bit her lip, "Prince Garsiv accidently knocked over a dagger and it sliced through the Prince's arm and he still didn't stir or flinch at all."

She stopped before a door and the healers almost ran into her. "Here we are, sires." She tapped the door briefly before opening it and entering, the healers following behind her.

The two princes looked up to see who was entering the room and stood when their gazes met the appearance of the healers they had requested. "Healers of Alamut. We are in your debt for such a hasty journey." Tus formally said, bowing his head.

"This is the patient?" One of the healers, an older one with wizen features and crystal clear blue eyes questioned as he approached the still prince. His companions followed suite and together, the three healers surrounded the bed.

Tus made a subtle hand gesture to the woman to both exit and go and fetch his father and Healer Ysman. The girl bowed and spun on her heels, walking briskly to complete her task.

The Alamut healers were murmuring to themselves and examining the prince. One of the healers lifted the prince's arm where there was a bandage. "This is where the Prince was cut?" Garsiv flushed but nodded nonetheless.

"No response to pain stimulus." The healer muttered, gently placing the arm back onto the fine cloth bedding. "Tell me," the healer questioned, not removing his eyes from their patient or interrupting any further examinations, "do you have the letter in question that might provide answers to this mysterious ailment?"

Tus nodded and procured a copy of the letter—the original remained with their father and his war counsel. Their uncle Nizam was already on the long trek to meet the territories once owned by Tasman. The wealthy man would pay for his actions with his life and the family—especially if they had any part in this plot—would regret such choices for the rest of their mortal life.

One of the healers took the note and, ignoring any political arguments and justification, found the root of the issue. "The calimut root."

The elder healer looked up and took the letter from the healer's grasp, eyes skimming the letter before lowering it and looking at the prince. "I never thought that such devilry would still be remembered in this world."

The doors opened once more and the servant woman stood in the doorway as the King and Healer Ysman entered. She quietly closed the door and allowed the men to convene amongst themselves and hopefully cure Prince Dastan.

"Have you uncovered the cause of my son's ailment?" Sharaman asked, eyes searching for any clues.

One of the healers stepped forth, "The calimut root." Ysman's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing the fabled name. "It is thought to be extinct once the climate shifted along the foothills of the Himalayan mountain range. Furthermore, sire, this particular concoction requires a specific recipe often used by natives of the land and was believed to be forgotten centuries ago when the last tribesmen perished."

"Do you know of the cure?"

"Yes." Relief was tangible for all the occupants in the room. "I believe we have all the necessary ingredients. We shall quickly prepare it and do all we can to help young Prince Dastan."

Tus couldn't hold his tongue any further—curiosity was one of his rather hidden traits, "Tell me, if such a plant and potion is thought to be extinct and unheard of, how is it that you know of such a plant and the cure?"

One of the healers raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile, pulling out a thick and dusty tome wrapped carefully in the finest linens, "Alamut has one of the most extensive libraries, containing rare books and things long thought of as history or legendary." He flipped open the book and thumbed to a proper page, "Many of our citizens travel the lands extensively and document all that they can of areas. Many healers have emerged from this practice, gaining a variety of knowledge from local and widespread techniques."

His searching hands stopped flipping through pages and the other two healers crowded around the tome. "Here it is." They began to mumble once more under their breaths, every so often one would exit the circle and rummage through a nearby pack and produce various dried herbs.

Eventually, they pulled away from one another, a stone bowl containing a powdered and crushed mixture of all the herbs they had blended together. "Healer Ysman's letter called for our help." They met the eyes of the man standing next to the king, Is this you?"

"Indeed."

"Please mix this with one cup of water, boil over a hot flame for two turns of a sandglass, and then allow for it to cool." They handed the bowl over to the medicine man. "We trust you to fully accomplish this task. Afterward, the prince must drink it all." Ysman nodded and turned to leave.

One of the healers couldn't help the yawn from escaping his tired lips. "Forgive me, King Sharaman. We have traveled for two days without rest—only stopping to switch our horses and packs at outposts. Pray—may we rest for the evening before we continue treatment for your son?"

The King nodded, "I cannot thank you enough for the help you have given us." He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared by his side in almost an instant. "I shall have the finest guest rooms prepared for you to refresh yourselves in before a feast tonight to welcome you." He nodded at the boy by his side, "Hasam will lead you to your rooms."

Once the healers were gone, Tus and Garsiv, who remained silent and out of the way during the healers assessment and treatment of their little brother returned to where they had been before. Sharaman approached his sons after a moment of admiring the picture of brotherly love and the bond between the three.

Tus brushed off the sweaty bangs from his little brother's forehead. "Don't worry, Dastan." He grabbed a nearby wet towel and dabbed at his forehead, "Soon you'll be climbing trees and causing trouble, acting as though nothing was ever wrong." Garsiv chuckled at the thought. It sounded just like Dastan.

"I will leave you be, my sons. Guard over him, if you will. Ysman should return shortly." Sharaman said, turning to take his leave.

"Father." Garsiv stopped his father in his footsteps, but the weary king did not turn to meet his son's eyes. "You're favorite story was always of how uncle once saved your life from the lioness."

Tus nodded in agreement. "We know Dastan would gladly do the same—if not more for each of us—and the same goes for you father."

Sharaman remained silent, for once not quite knowing what to say despite all his years of wisdom. His never thought his sons would be able to read him so well; that they would be able to see past his tough appearance.

"Even if Dastan knew what was in the letter, he would have gladly opened it and accept any fate as long as he could protect you." Garsiv finished.

"I know, my sons." Sharaman said, refusing to look them in the eye, as he continued on to the door, where the guards silently observed the scene. He hoped Ysman would hurry and bring forth Dastan's medicine that would cure him. The healers implied only one dose was needed to combat the root and allow Dastan's eyes to once more see the sun's rays. The King exited Dastan's bedchambers. The guards then closed the doors behind the king, closing off and dividing the small family.

'_But no father should ever have to bury his son_.'

FIN


	4. Chapter 4: Dastan

FOUR: Dastan

"Brother, please, you know me!" Dastan tried to hide the pleading tone from his voice. Images of the possible future seared his mind. He couldn't let that happen. His brothers—no, his entire family dead. Tamina fallen into shadow and no doubt dashed against the rocks or whatever lay at the bottom of the cavern the sandglass was located in.

Tus examined Dastan's eyes, seeing the urgency in them. The plea for him to listen to his youngest brother. His brain was turning over and over; trying to analyze the situation and determine the best choice.

He closed his eye and a flash of an image assaulted him—

_Dastan had a knife imbedded in his chest. Crimson blood stained the ornate blade and hilt. He saw Dastan's eyes glimmer for a moment, flashing pain, before dimming and turning blank as death stole his brother from him. Blood bubbled from his lips—_

His uncle Nizam was trying to gently prod Tus in one direction, to let Dastan rest and recover his senses. He could understand—the battle had been intense and Dastan had pushed himself to great lengths to ensure the casualties would be few on both sides.

However, Dastan had been in many battles, and after so long Tus assumed that the many acrobatic tricks that his younger brother did was simply a part of his nature and didn't strain him more than it would a circus performer.

When Dastan whispered words his father told him in private, he could feel the seeds of doubt kindle in his mind. His father's advice had never failed him before—he should have listened to it, he should have always noted it. Nizam was their uncle though—he had saved their own father from a lioness when they were young.

"Find the spy. He knows the truth. We shall pry it from him through torture if we must." Relief flooded through Dastan's eyes and Tus couldn't help but feel it wash through him as well. So obvious. How could he not have seen this solution to begin with.

Garsiv remained by his side, eyeing Dastan with mixed feelings as well. There was worry no doubt—his brother had conquered the city and yet not proclaimed its innocence? Had the heat affected the youngest's wits indeed? Or had their uncle truly been the root of such dastardly deeds?

His sharp and keen ears—trained relentlessly for battle and roaming the castle halls for rumors and threats—heard what his brother said; "It will never be you." To Nizam. He registered the fury on Nizam's face before it was carefully concealed once more.

As Garsiv turned to follow after his brother his mind connected the two actions together. The throne. He turned, barely in time to see Nizam pull a blade on his brother. He saw blood and a nearby soldier also strike at the youngest prince.

Dastan was quick on his feet—the first swipe of the blade had caught him off guard and unprotected. Nizam or his minions wouldn't get the chance again.

Tus and Garsiv found themselves near the bottom of the steps as Dastan walked towards his two siblings after dealing with Nizam. He didn't see Nizam rush to his feet and pull a concealed dagger from a sheath, lunging towards the one who foiled his plans.

Tus lunged forward at the same time as Garsiv. The middle child gripped Dastan's arm, pulling him forward and away from the reach of the blade the same time that Tus's blade reached home in Nizam's chest.

The three brothers watched, hands clasped on each others shoulders as they looked at the dead body of their uncle who dared to betray them. They looked at one another and once more at the shocked face of Dastan. They gripped their brother tighter; glad to known they had managed to protect him.

Time and time again, Dastan had proven his worth and loyalty to the royal family. How they could have so easily forgotten that almost made them ashamed. Soldiers surrounded the three princes and they marched up the stairs of Alamut, determined to right their wrongs and sooth the betrayal they had garnered.

Dastan followed closely behind his brothers, relief flooding through his veins and cleansing the adrenaline that had left his body taut and tense.

FIN

Author's note: Goodness! It is finally finished! Wow a whopping 22 pages! Prince of Persia the movie has taken over my life and dreams now. I simply couldn't resist. I'm a sucker for most action movies. Thanks to all the reviews, favs, alerts, and support! It's really been amazing!


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